176 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images.

24-ii.2.

177
All things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.

35-iv.5.

178 O'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.

7-iii. 2.

179 0, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. 16—ii. 2.

180
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little:
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died, fearing God.

25-iv. 2. 181

Full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

25-iv.2. 182

Grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate. 22-iv. 3.

Poems.

183
The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth:
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye.

184

She shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
And clamour moisten’d: then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

34-iv.3. 185

In the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart.

17-i. 3.

186
Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.

17-iii. 2.

187 Lo! here the hopeless merchant of this loss, With head declined, and voice damm’d up

with

woe, With sad set eyes and wretched arms across, From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow The grief away, that stops his answer so; But wretched as he is, he strives in vain; What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again. As through an arch the violent roaring tide Out-runs the eye, that doth behold his haste; Yet in the eddie boundeth in his pride Back to the strait, that forced him on so fast, In rage sent out, recall'd in rage being past: Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

188

My particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature,

Poems.

That it engluts and swallows other sorrows,
And it is still itself.

37-i.3.

189

When my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would riveh in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth, fate turns to sudden sadness.

26-i. 1.

190
Sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell.

Poems.

191

'Tis with my mind As with the tide, swell’d up unto its height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way.

19-ii. 3.

192 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast. 17-ii. I.

193
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots,
As will not leave their tinct.

36-iii. 4.

194 My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; And I myself see not the bottom of it. 26- üi.3.

195 Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 35–ii2. 196 My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberali tongue.

17-ii. l.

197 There's nothing in this world, can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Aexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. 16-iii. 4.

198 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, And caterpillars eat my leaves away. 22-jï. 1.

199

kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature! The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind

up Of this child-changed father!

34-iv. 7.

0, you

200 As the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, Like strengthless hinges buckle under life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief, Are thrice themselves."

19-i. 1.

201 Our strength is all gone into heaviness, That makes the weight !

30-iv. 13.

202 Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 16-iii. 4.

m

i Free.
k Ps. xc. 9.

I Bend, yield to pressure. Anger and terror have been known to remove a fit of the gout; to give activity to the bed-ridden; and to produce instantaneous and most extraordinary energies.

203
O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow,
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which, in the very meeting, fall and die.

16-iii. 1, 204 Even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy

life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. 17-ü. I.

205

The last she spake
Was, Antony! most noble Antony!
Then in the midst of a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips.

30-iv. 12.

206 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill’d, and so becoming.

13-iii. 3.

207 Are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart?

36-iv. 7.

208 Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul; Holding the eternal spirit against her will, In the vile prison" of afflieted breath. 16-iii. 4.

209 A cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my poor heart.

4-üi. 1. 210

Ah, cut my lace asunder! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.